Realization and Hope Lost
by Spider RedNight
Summary: The interaction between Walter and Cynthia in South Ashfield Station when both were teenagers. Loosely based on "Another Crimson Tome."


Walter sat up and leaned against the arched wall of the South Ashfield Station tunnel, his worn out sleeping back folded somewhat neatly at his side. His knees were bent and he rested his arms on them, causing them to straighten out and look almost zombie-like in appearance. His matted, dirty blond hair caught on the rough spots of the wall as his head pointed up. His eyes were closed, but one could see them moving rapidly under his eyelids. His mouth was open slightly, a raspy breath coming and going, coming and going. He heard people walk by, their quick strides slowing down slightly as he knew they glanced at him with disgusted looks on their smug faces. He didn't care at this point; he was bored beyond recognition.

He could always go try to visit mother. '_Nah_,' he thought. That Richard guy's probably around somewhere, and Walter wasn't in the mood to deal with above-average stupidity. He could eagerly await seeing if Eileen was going to pass him by. He then shrugged off that expectation; the time she gave him her doll was the first and last time he'd ever seen her in the Station… Well, the part he inhabited, anyway. He then considered surfacing and seeing if he could spot her anywhere else… She made him feel worth existing, for some reason. He sighed loudly, frowning slightly. He kept his eyes closed.

Suddenly, he heard a group of girls in the distance. Groups of anything in the Station were rare, but he happened to know this one. His green eyes snapped open and he moved his head forward, not leaning on the wall anymore. He instead rested his gaze upon the group of girls that came down the escalator on the far side of where he was. It was a group of four girls, all looking slightly similar as far as fashion was concerned; all of them were early in their teen years, but all of them also looked as if they lost their virginity at least a year before; scantily clad in short shorts and skirts, low-cut shirts that would've bragged large breasts if they developed earlier, hair fixed in various cuts that added to their beauty-enhanced faces. Walter had a habit of studying them every time they passed by and noticed that one looked more and more familiar every time they passed by. He knew her name; some force told him her name so long ago. So long ago.

So long ago that he was tired of simply watching from afar, though he was able to learn a lot about her. She was so beautiful though only thirteen, the way her curly hair was usually bundled atop her head, her smooth tan skin accompanied her rich brown eyes, the way she spoke rapid Spanish to her friends and made it seem so simple. Walter, leaving his sleeping bag at his side, stood and leaned against the wall and tried to look nonchalant. His musty clothes hung off his thin frame, but he covered it up by crossing his surprisingly strong arms in front of his chest. He closed his eyes, hoping to look "cool." Truth be told, he had very little experience with talking to girls; his mother never talked back and Eileen was too young to invoke romantic feelings in the quiet and somewhat shy teen.

Slowly but surely, he heard the volume of the chattering girls' voices rise as they got closer to him. He honestly didn't know what to expect; he hoped it would be along the lines of the girl whom he knew the name of stopping and seeing his impressive stance, turning, and approaching him with her flirtatious behaviour that he knew she possessed. They grew louder, louder, louder… Quieter. He gasped and opened his eyes, lurching forward and snapping out of his "cool" position. He turned his head, his hair whipping him in the face, and saw the group of girls slowly making their way away from him. He took a step forward as if someone hit him in the back with such force that he was pushed ahead. His usually calm green eyes widened as he hurriedly attempted to regain his nonchalant demeanor. It was that split second that he realized that he would have to go to her. He gulped with anxiousness and started after the group of girls. His eyes aimed straight for the girl he knew the name of. The closer he got to them, the more he realized how tall he seemed compared to the four short girls.

"E-excuse me…" He faltered. Much to his surprise, all four girls stopped and turned. As soon as She turned around, his eyes darted to the ground. Before they instinctively left her figure, he could see her eyes widen with surprise. Happy he got her attention but unsure of how to keep it, he hurriedly attempted mild conversation. What to talk about, what to talk about, think, Walter, think!

"Er… Which school a-are you going to…?" He asked mildly, averting her gaze. He saw her inhale deeply with what he assumed to be shock. She looked confused for a moment before regaining her posture.

"North Ashfield Junior-High School," She hesitated for a second, as if she had forgotten what school she went to. "…What do you want from me?" Unlike her previous statement, this one sounded braver, as if they had been talking for awhile and he said something to mildly irritate her. What? He didn't want anything from her. He wanted to talk to her, to know more about her. Something in his stomach lurched; he didn't know how to answer that question. Without really thinking, his answer fell out of his mouth in a jumbled heap.

"Well, that apartment there… Room 302..." He pointed in the direction of where the apartment was. Wait, what? Why did he bring that up? Oh, right… He knew she lived there somewhere. That's where he first saw her, where he first heard her name. He was six or seven, while she was three. She was so small, so cute, so innocent… And, unlike Walter who was the victim of abuse from Richard Braintree and so many others, Cynthia was publicly accepted. He started to go on when one of her friends interrupted him. He immediately fell silent. He felt awkward.

"Who the hell is this piece of crap?" One of her friends snapped boldly. Walter shrugged and took a small step backwards, feeling the verbal blow in his mind. It was true, he was a piece of crap. Another friend chimed in.

"Leave him alone, let's go!" He didn't want her to leave him alone. He didn't want to be alone.

"Don't be bothered by him," The third one said. From Walter's angle, it was suggested that Cynthia was either the leader of their small band or she was such a follower that she was used to getting pushed around like this. Or protected, as it could also be described. The third one tugged on her arm, motioning for her to follow them. They had already started to walk away. However, She pulled her hand out of her friend's grasp. She smiled slightly and looked at him through possibly intentional, seductive brown eyes.

"Well, you look handsome," She complimented. His eyes moved towards her face, his heart skipping a beat. Her, the beautiful girl he saw often, calling him, the homeless teenager with so many flaws, handsome? He didn't think it possible but stayed silent, not wanting to ruin the moment. "Though…" The word filled him with tense anxiety. Though? That was equivalent to "But," a word that usually countered what had been said before. "Where are you from?" He resisted the urge to sigh with relief. That was, fortunately, not what he was expecting. Straightening up slightly and still looking at her in the eyes, he replied with a shred more confidence than in previous conversation. Wait, where did he come from, again? Oh, yeah…

"Well, I came from Silent Hill…" Yeah, that sounded about right. Wish House. Blech. Home, yet not simultaneously. He felt slightly more confident. However, her friends were taking miniscule steps back, really wanting to leave but not wanting to abandon their friend.

"Don't talk to him. Leave him alone, okay?" They made gestures with their bodies, telling both of them that they felt very uncomfortable as they urged her to follow them out, away from the Station, away from Walter. Walter did nothing in turn, but hoped she wouldn't leave, not yet… Two of them took her arms again and pulled like excited children to a toy store. She started to follow, hardly able to resist two friends pulling her away while the third encouraged from the sidelines. Walter gasped softly. Wait, wait…

"Wait, Cynthia!" He called, taking a few steps forward and saying her name for the first time to her face. She, Cynthia, abruptly ripped her arms from her friends and looked up at him, seeming thoroughly surprised that he knew her name. He avoided her eyes, wanting to kick himself for being so stupid. She was probably going to do something bad to him now, something that he would expect but didn't want to. He was surprised again. He remained where he was, letting her come to him. Slowly, carefully, she reached up and placed a long-nailed hand on his cheek gently. Her hands were warm and soft. He exhaled calmly; her hands felt like that of a mother to a child. He wanted to close his eyes, to live through this moment forever.

"Hey… You misunderstood me…" No, he was pretty sure he didn't. After all, to call him handsome and show him physical affection gave him a good idea that she was what he hoped her to be. "You look handsome, but that doesn't mean I think you're attractive." The words hit Walter like a brick wall. Handsome, yet not attractive? How was that even possible? Walter's eyes went from calm and affectionate to shocked and somewhat disbelieving. But that wasn't all she had to say. "Your clothes are filthy and smell so bad…" Oh, yes. The good ol' homeless person stench. The more she said, the more Walter felt bitter resentment towards himself and her. He wished he could get rid of the smell, of the clothes, of the life he lived. He wanted to start over so bad… "Do you think that's the kind of thing a girl like me is into?" No, most likely not. After all, girls want a clean, tall, muscular man with a charming smile, sparkling blue eyes, and a good personality, not someone like Walter; tall, thin, dull green eyes, grimy blond hair, and a shy disposition. "No way…" There was the nail in the heart, he realized with a painful shattering of a virtual pane of glass, a mirror that held his dirty appearance. It cracked and faltered, gathering at his feet like dead moths to a flame. "And just how is it you know my name?" She suddenly up and asked. Walter turned saddened eyes away from Cynthia. Should he tell her? Should he not and pretend she didn't just destroy what little emotion he had left? What more had he to lose?

"Ah, well… It's been about… Ten years since I heard your name…" He replied with little emotion, not really caring what happened at that point. He no longer felt warmth from her hand. On the contrary, with every word she said, it got colder and clammier, withering and hardening to the consistency of dead wood. Little to his surprise, she reacted negatively to this tidbit of information. She withdrew her hand quickly, as if she burned herself on a hot surface. "Ten years…?" She asked incredulously. Walter heard her friends gasp behind her and he took another step back. "You've been eavesdropping on us for ten years??" How he longed to tell her that that wasn't the case at all, that he visited his mother frequently and had lots of chances to hear her name on their floor. However, numb from being insulted as he had just been, he remained silent. "You're disgusting!!" The icing on the cake. Far from being surprised at being offended at this point, Walter took another step back and nodded his head slightly, his eyes saying, "Of _course_ she calls me disgusting now. I look like a stalker to her, why _wouldn't_ she call me disgusting?" Making small, feminine growling noises as if he just harassed her, she turned and stormed off, her whispering friends surrounding her and looking like hunchbacked assistants to her dominating figure. And, of course, they weren't out of earshot quite yet.

"It's not my day. Just my luck to meet a creep like that…" That was all Walter heard and could tolerate. Thrusting his hands in his coat pockets, he turned and stalked back over to where his lonely suitcase was. He furrowed his brow with frustration and sat down aggressively, not harboring any further emotions for that woman. As far as he was concerned, she could just get murdered and him not even think about it twice. As he brooded, a passing lady slowed down and ogled at him. His green eyes darted up and stared daggers at her, and she hurried away looking disturbed. He gritted his teeth and stared back down at the ground. It wasn't his day.

Just his luck to meet a witch like that.


End file.
